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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29758302">Paris Pick-Up</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlit_Streets/pseuds/Moonlit_Streets'>Moonlit_Streets</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Overwatch (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Injury, Broken Bones, Family, M/M, Modern Era, Other, Overwatch - Freeform, Paris (City)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:33:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>646</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29758302</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlit_Streets/pseuds/Moonlit_Streets</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief story of my OC Yumiko Shimada who is Hanzo's daughter. McHanzo implied but not enough to tag </p><p>Yumiko gets into trouble in a peculiar place and has to dial in for help.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Paris Pick-Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Blood stained boots and a potentially broken nose. Can't say I'm fond of it. The nose, not the boots. Probably the worst thing I got from my family, I think. Screw the trauma and the deceased relatives. </p><p>Weirdly ridged. Curved. As I run my finger along it, I can only hold back a curse. They swear different here than home. I got a weird look once. Still unsure what he thought he was looking at. A spit of blood to the floor was enough the clear him off. That was filthy. Not feminine. Grandfather rolling in the grave.</p><p>Definitely broken then. Again, not attached, but an inconvenience.</p><p>A payphone and a spinning head and blood stained boots and a broken nose. Can't say life was throwing me good things at the minute. All the bad. I never learnt how to catch the good ones, anyway. I picked up the phone shakily, holding it to my ear and punched in the current numbers of a burner phone. It's been a while. Hopefully he hasn't gotten a new one.</p><p>"Moshi moshi?"</p><p>I have no idea why he insists on answering like that. Maybe it's habit? No. If it was a habit, it would be something with 'Shimada' involved and it's not. Tradition maybe? Clinging to the culture. Same. We miss home. </p><p>"You in the continent?" I asked quickly, leaning against the small booth. "I'm in-" </p><p>"France. Why are you in Europe? You don't speak French. Looking for love?" a hollow chuckle. </p><p>I scoffed coldly. "As if you're having any better luck-" </p><p>A deep voice suddenly came through on the other side of the call, depicted he had. An American. Quite probably a rugged country man, just like in those old westerns my father used to watch. He had a weird taste in media. And a weirder taste in men. </p><p>Hanzo's voice returned. "Why are you-" </p><p>"I broke my nose," </p><p>There was a painful, long silence. Almost disappointed, judging by the next line. </p><p>"Yumi, you're almost-" </p><p>"You missed my birthday. Come and make it up to me," I hissed in pain briefly and dabbed at crimson blood. Fresh. "This damn-" </p><p>"Shimada nose," in unison. </p><p>A rouse of laughter came from both of us, it was a quiet but enjoyable affair. My lips split in a chuckle and I'm pretty sure they were bleeding too. </p><p>"I miss you. A lot. Not trying to make you feel guilty to come and pick you up, but. I miss you," </p><p>It was hard telling the truth to this man. It was hard to admit that I needed him. </p><p>"Can't you handle it yourself? Surely you have a safe house in Paris? France? Europe...?" his words got gradually more hesitant. "What have you got Yumi?" </p><p>"Bow, knife, clothes on my back and some spare cash. And a broken nose," I added, just for extra guilt points. </p><p>For a moment, there was more muffling and hushed noise. I tried to listen in but it was impossible. Hiding other conversations during phone calls was a sport of Hanzo's. </p><p>"Hold tight, Yumiko. I--we will be there in an hour or so," Hanzo promised. </p><p>"You know how to find me," I closed my eyes for a moment. "Thank you. So much,"</p><p>The line went dead. The buzz rang in my ears. For just a moment, I allowed it before putting the phone down. Pulling out my spare change, I looked through it. Enough for a good cup of coffee? I hope so.</p><p>I exited back from the phone booth. Popularised again, I suppose. Used to be impossible to find. I'm not complaining. I just got a warm bed and an overdue shower for the night because of one. </p><p>Now, how to tell an ex-yakuza father that I failed an assassination? Nausea overcame me. I was gonna need more than a cup of coffee for my journey home.</p>
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